


You Don't Need a Treaty to Have Free Trade

by teacuphuman



Series: 2016 Inception Kink Bingo [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M, sex as currency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7579612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is open to alternative forms of payment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Need a Treaty to Have Free Trade

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dystopia AU square on my Inception Kink Bingo card.
> 
> I feel like the summary makes this fic sound sexier than it is. It has a G rating. Oh well.

The first time it happened had been for water. Eames had emptied the last of his canteen two days prior and the headache from the dehydration was blurring his vision. He’d stumbled into Arthur’s little outpost half convinced he was hallucinating. At least the man had let him rest a few hours before taking his payment. 

 

The second time was for a blanket. Eames had settled a few hours North of Arthur, up the mountain a little, and the nights were growing colder as they crept toward winter. Arthur snorted when Eames appeared at his door. He’d taken the time before collecting his fee to remind Eames of the warning he’d given three months prior, when he told him moving up the slope was a bad idea. Sometimes, when Eames is lonely enough, he pretends Arthur’s smell still lingers on the quilt.

 

The third time was in trade for a rifle. A coyote had taken two of his chickens and Eames couldn’t afford to lose anymore. Arthur had refused to let Eames buy it, insisting it was a loan, and therefore, did not require reimbursement. But Eames had talked his way into a rental fee, to be paid half then, half when he returned the piece. He couldn’t be sure, but he thinks he saw a twitch of a smile in the moment before Arthur agreed.

 

He’s back once more, the fourth time in a year, in need of weld on a broken hitch joint. Arthur doesn’t weld, that’s Yusuf’s department, and thankfully the man will take a jar of the spirits Eames produces in return. He doesn’t really need anything from Arthur, but he’s willing to bet he can find something he wants in Arthur’s little shop.

 

His breath catches at the sight of Arthur, frowning over his ledger at the counter. Why he keeps such meticulous records, Eames hasn’t a clue. It isn’t like anyone is going to come around looking for an account of what was bought, sold, and traded after the lights went out. A throwback to Arthur’s life before perhaps. Eames doesn’t know and it’s not polite to ask. He does wonder, however, how Arthur records their transactions.

 

Eames shuffles around the shop, plucking items off the shelves and abandoning them in random spots. It’s a little game they play that Eames never tires of and Arthur pretends not to enjoy.

 

“Mr. Eames, what can I help you with today?” Arthur says, eyes travelling over Eames’ dusty clothes.

 

“Always so formal, Arthur. Are we not friends now? Can we not greet each other as such?” Eames saunters up the the counter, sneaking a peek at the ledger before Arthur shuts it with a snap.

 

“Of course, my apologies. What do you want?”

 

Eames laughs. “There’s my darling!”

 

Arthur almost smiles, Eames is sure of it.

 

“I actually have something that might interest you,” Arthur says, coming around the counter. “You’d mentioned that you liked to draw and I might be able to help you with that.” Arthur cross the small room to the desk he has set up in the corner. He unlocks the bottom drawer and pulls out a pad of watercolour paper and a tin of graphite pencils.

 

Eames brushes his fingers over the items, hands trembling just a little at the thought of using something other than chalk to record the constant images in his head.

 

“When did I tell you that?” Eames asks, his throat tight with emotion. When he looks up at Arthur, the man’s cheeks are flushed.

 

“The second time,” Arthur says quietly. “You said you wished you could sketch my portrait. Take it home and hang it on your wall.”

 

Eames clears his throat, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize you were awake to hear that.”

 

“Do you make a habit of speaking to me when I’m asleep?” Arthur raises an elegant eyebrow, that same ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

 

“Stay awake next time and find out,” Eames challenges. “How much for the lot?”

 

“No charge, I saved them for you. Figured you owing me a favour might be a good thing, especially now that your still is up and running.”

 

“No one’s supposed to know about that.” Eames chides.

 

“Then you shouldn’t be trading with Yusuf. The man isn’t exactly a subtle drunk.”

 

“Hmm, you may have a point. Think you could scrounge me up my own rifle? It may come in handy the more people find out.”

 

“The safest thing would be for you to move into town. Safety in numbers and all that.” Arthur picks up the pad and pencils and heads back to the counter to record them.

 

“Why Arthur, is that an invitation?” Eames purrs.

 

“It could be.” Arthur says, eyes on the ledger where he’s carefully jotting down Eames’ purchase.

 

Eames straightens, shocked by the sincerity of Arthur’s tone. “Are you serious?”

 

Arthur looks up. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Eames’ brain shorts out for a minute while he sputters nonsensical words at Arthur and watches the other man’s frown deepen.

 

“Clearly I’ve mistaken the nature of our relationship, Mr. Eames. I apologize. I’ll need to charge you for the paper and pencils now, how would you like to pay?”

 

“Now just hold on a minute!” Eames says, and he may be shouting because he’s made Arthur flinch. “Sorry, sorry. Just stop for a moment and let me catch up.”

 

“Of course. I know it takes you longer than most.” 

 

Eames glares at Arthur’s flippant tone. Usually he finds it amusing, the way Arthur grows more sarcastic the more annoyed he gets, but Eames has never had it turned on him, and he can’t say he’s a fan.

 

“Arthur, darling, surely you can understand my confusion. I know our business relationship is unconventional, but I didn’t think you-”

 

“Business relationship? Unconventional? What the hell, Eames? You think I sleep with all my customers? That may be how they do business in the outposts in the South, but that’s not how I work.” Arthur’s cheeks are red again, a lovely shade of crimson that extends down his neck and under his shirt. Eames is momentarily distracted wondering how far down it goes.

 

“But you kept doing it!” Eames throws his hands up, unsure of where he veered off the path of this conversation.

 

“Because I thought you enjoyed it! Oh, god. You didn’t enjoy it, did you? Oh my god, why didn’t you say something!” Arthur’s words are muffled by the hand that’s covering his mouth as he stares at Eames in horror.

 

“Of course I enjoyed it, don’t be daft! If I didn’t why would I keep coming back? I have chickens, and liquor, and those little carvings I could have traded you.”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Those carvings are terrible, they can’t be currency.” 

 

“One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure.” Eames tells him, grinding his teeth.

 

“Kindling. They’d be another man’s kindling. Eames, I know you have those things. You know that I know that. So why, if all I was looking for was a trade, wouldn’t I ask for them? God, when I loaned you the gun, you thanked me twice!”

 

Eames has the decency to feel abashed. “I may have thought it was a rental.”

 

“Oh my god, get out! I take it back, you can’t move into town. You’re an idiot. How you’ve survived on your own for the past year is a mystery because you are a fucking moron!” Arthur bends low to bang his head on the cupboard a few times.

 

Eames pushes him back, disturbed by the thud Arthur’s skull makes when it connects with the wood. “Stop that. Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea we were more than two blokes willing to accept flexible payment options. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thrilled to be wrong.”

 

Arthur rubs his forehead, eyeing Eames warily. “What does that mean, exactly?”

 

“It means I’ve spent the last year up that damn mountain, pining for you in my shitty little shack. That you think enough of me to ask me to be here, to maybe share a life with you, makes me the happiest I’ve been since the lights went out. God, Arthur, I am so in love with you.”

 

“Oh.” Arthur says, blinking rapidly.

 

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

 

Arthur swallows, reaching across the counter to touch Eames’ hand.“Um, I guess you don’t have to pay for the stuff.” 

 

Eames grins, turning his palm up to meet Arthur’s. “You say the sweetest things, darling.”

 

That night, Eames apologizes to Arthur again. Twice.

  
  



End file.
